Chuck vs One Sunday Morning
by malamoo
Summary: It was a Sunday Morning...Fluff that spilled over from Then and Now. One-Shot. Chuck/Sarah.


_A/N: Surprise! I don't know what got over me, it's not even the right season..._

_This is an offshoot of "Then and Now" because it doesn't match my usual convention. For those who haven't read anything else of mine, here is a sum-up. In this AU, Chuck and Sarah are happily married and they have a daughter. Nothing but pure fluff, folks. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. Once Altonish alleged that i did. It was not very nice of him to raise __up __my hopes like that.  
_

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* * *

_It was a Sunday morning…

* * *

Sarah awoke to the tune of chorus birds just outside the bedroom window and not the hungry cries or the rumble of content snores she was so used to having as a wake-up call.

She turned in the bed and looked out at the bright sunshine streaming through the corners of the drawn curtains, her eyes meandering to the clock on her nightstand. She had to take two glances to make sure she wasn't imagining things.

"Ten AM?" she murmured. When was the last time she'd slept in this late? Sarah laughed under her breath. She'd have to think way back before the baby, and even then, she was never one to waste time.

Still, it felt good to snuggle against the comforter. Better still, if she had someone to snuggle up against.

Sarah felt like she ought to buy a lottery ticket. It was a sure sign of _something_ when Chuck started the day before her. She turned and looked over at his nightstand. Most of his things—his watch, cell, and wallet were all still strewn over the counter.

_That's odd._ Why wouldn't Chuck want to sleep in? What could he possibly be doing this early on a Sunday morning? And why wasn't her other Chuck awake and begging to be let out of the crib?

Closing her eyes for one last time, she sighed and threw off the covers, embracing the cool morning air. She yawned as she slipped on her usual robe, the thin silken material doing little to preserve her remaining body heat.

Padding barefoot down the hall, she opened the first door on the right, only to stop dead in her tracks.

"Chuck?" she called, though at this point she wasn't picky about who answered. The room was as still as death.

"Chuck?" she called, a little louder, as if the babe that could barely walk had somehow managed to crawl out of her crib. "Charlotte, this isn't funny." Sarah marched to the window and drew back the curtains.

Instantly the room was bathed in daylight but nothing could remove the hollow emptiness she felt. Something was wrong.

Sarah walked back to the crib area. Charlotte's favorite blanket, Piglet and poor, mangled Mr. Bunny were all accounted for. Everything in the room was where she left it the night before, save for the most important part.

Leaving the nursery, Sarah ran down the stairs hollering for her husband.

Nothing.

She moved from the kitchen to the living room to the office and then doubled back to peer out into the yard. She wouldn't allow herself to panic upstairs, but the evidence was mounting and with each passing second her impending hysteria felt more and more justified.

"Chuck!" she screamed. Her voice echoed through the empty house.

She searched the fridge—no note. She checked the front hall and Chuck's usual sneakers, his coat, and the car keys were still in their usual places.

This didn't make any sense.

Sarah's heart began to pound. How had she not noticed? Why would they leave without saying anything?

To her credit, the ghastly unspeakable act which would have been her first guess years ago doesn't come to her until now.

All it takes is one slight thought, one spark of her imagination, for her to lose her breath.

Her hand instantly goes to her chest. How could someone just snatch away her loved ones?

_It's not so hard…_the dreaded voice reminded. Of course not. But this was suburbia not some poverty-stricken slum rife with civil unrest. What would they want with a baby and a software designer?

Sarah felt her legs buckle underneath her and she had to lean against something lest she fall to the ground.

There were hundreds of babies out there, and plenty of nerds to choose from. Why hers? Why them?

"This can't be happening…"

And even if it were—_big if_, she reminds—the people responsible ought to have the decency to leave a ransom note of some sort. They couldn't take them away without promising to return them safely. And how dare they take her daughter without putting a coat on her? That was just plain cruel.

Sarah felt as if she might burst into tears but she refused to lose control at a time so crucial and forced them back. It was like sealing a giant leak with a piece of gum. The inevitable hadn't been prevented; merely delayed.

Walking shakily to the front door, she twisted the knob, her heart sinking with dread as the front entrance slid open easily. The door wasn't even locked.

"Damn it," she cursed. She was getting sloppy. She could have dusted the handle for prints.

She shook her head fiercely, trying to shake some sense into herself. She needed to be rational about this; detached even. She needed the cold-blooded agent back, nagging conscience and all.

For her family it was not a matter of how far she was willing to go but how far the perpetrators would run. And when she got her hands on them, there would be hell to pay.

But even as Sarah cycled through all the scenarios in her head and began to make plans, she realized she was still missing that other part of her.

It takes her half a block before she realizes she's been walking barefoot down the sidewalk in only her robe.

Sarah stopped dead in her tracks. Clenching her fists, she spun around and began to march back to the house for appropriate attire.

She didn't want to do this anymore. She couldn't.

Frustration began to mount and she felt the threat of imminent tears. It took all her concentration but she was able to hold back the flood. She wiped her dry eyes preemptively, trying to keep herself from shaking as hard as she was.

"Go pick on someone else!" she murmured, like a child tired of a game she's just realized she'll never win.

"Sarah?"

The voice startles her and when she looks up, Chuck is standing right in front of her with Charlotte held against his hip. The sight is so unexpected she's rendered speechless. For a second she thinks they are a mirage, an illusion she's created out of self-preservation, something she's conjured up to keep her sane.

But then Charlotte reaches out with her little hand and the touch is just as she remembered. Slightly sticky, and terribly sweet.

"What are you doing out here without shoes on?" Chuck asked. His hands are full otherwise he would have pointed to her bare feet.

Sarah feels choked back by emotion. She doesn't know why she still thinks the worst when something like this happens, but one of these days, it will be the end of her. She's never been more scared her whole life than when she thinks she's lost them.

"Why…" There are so many unanswered questions but then she sees Charlotte. "Why isn't Chuck wearing a coat? Don't you know she'll catch a cold?" She looks over her husband with an equal look of disapproval. "And why aren't you wearing a coat? And why didn't you take your wallet with you? Why are you wearing those hideous clogs instead of your sneakers? Why didn't you lock the front door? Why—" Sarah takes a deep breath, fully prepared to bombard him with another barrelful of questions, only to be stopped.

Chuck holds out the bouquet of roses he's been holding in his other hand. Had she been more perceptive, she would have noticed the giant arrangement earlier but her mind had been on other things.

He smiles sheepishly and waves them in front of her, waiting for her to take them.

Sarah just stares at the flowers, her brows furrowing in confusion. Charlotte coos, clapping her hands silently together.

Sarah takes them reluctantly into her hand. "Why…the flowers?"

A smile splits across his face. "Because it's Mother's day."

Sarah doesn't understand. "What?"

"It's Mother's day," he repeats. Charlotte gurgles some syllables that may or may not have been the same sentiment as her father's. Either way, Sarah's no closer to understanding.

"The real Mother's day," Chuck clarifies. Sarah's dumbstruck. Of course she's never celebrated Mother's day and Chuck has always celebrated it on the _wrong_ date, so she can't be blamed for her ignorance.

"I wanted to surprise you but nothing ever gets past you," he explained with a pleading look. "So when I woke up this morning and found that you were still asleep, I made a run for it. So…the front door was my fault. I'm sorry."

Sarah looks down at her lovely flowers, and then at her ever thoughtful husband.

"But…why did you take the baby?" she whimpered. The thought of Charlotte being taken from her was nearly enough to break the floodgates.

"I thought I'd let you sleep in." Chuck bit his lip. "Sarah, please say those are tears of joy in your eyes." He bounced Charlotte against his hip. "You'll break Chuck's heart if you say they're not."

Sarah laughs despite herself. It's the first time he's ever played the double-entendre on himself. "Oh, Chuck…" she murmurs, and even she doesn't know who she means.

Charlotte gurgles something and Sarah rushes to kiss them both. She really doesn't need a commercialized holiday to remind her of just how lucky she is. She's reminded of it everyday.

"I'm sorry, I wanted for you to have a normal Mother's day," Chuck whispers.

Sarah laughs as she wipes her cheeks. "This…" _This was so them. An inevitable sum when you combined a paranoid pseudo-insurance broker with a hopelessly naïve and hopeless romantic of a nerd. _

"This is pretty normal for us, isn't it?"

* * *

It was a Sunday morning…

* * *

Chuck heard the rustling of the sheets and felt something bump against his knee, knocking him from his dreams. Still half asleep, he yawned and turned his head against the pillow, only to find the space beside his empty.

"Sarah?" he groaned, wondering if he was still in a dream.

The sheets rustled again but even in his grogginess, Chuck knew that his wife wasn't beside him. He looked warily down at the sheets, his hands patting the fabric in search of the source. The second his fingers felt something uncharacteristically hard, the object squealed and burrowed deeper, like a mole digging down to the middle of the earth.

Chuck felt something crawl against his leg, making all the hairs there stand on end. Even though it was about as bad as being tickled on the soles of his feet, he was too cautious to make any sudden movement.

He laid flat on his back and waited, watching as the mysterious bump underneath the sheet moved closer towards him.

Finally he felt something thump against his chest. Chuck coughed once, eliciting a fit of giggles. Thank goodness it was not a grown-up sized fist, though even a tiny, ineffectual one was plenty.

Peeling back the sheets, he was met with a mass of wild curls and a pair of sparkling baby-blues.

"Good morning," he greeted, lifting his daughter out from her hiding spot. She squealed and raised her arms in the air, and then again when Chuck hugged her close to his chest, threatening to roll over onto her.

"Where's Mommy?" he asked, trying to tickle a confession out of her. Charlotte shook her head, only clutching the torn pieces of paper in her fist all the tighter. "Where'd she go, Piglet?"

"I'm right here."

The voice startles Chuck and he nearly jumps out of bed.

"And that is precisely why I didn't set this down on your lap first," Sarah says, nodding to the breakfast tray in her hand. "Happy Father's day," she announces and proceeds to lay the spread out in front of him.

Chuck sits up and scoots over so there's room for all three of them in the bed.

"Sorry, what?"

"It's Father's day," she says, stealing a gulp of his orange juice. "How could you forget your own holiday?"

Chuck scratches his head. "Is it really?"

She nods, as if he should have known better.

But how could he _not_ forget? Neither of them have fathers who deserve celebration. He hasn't thought of the holiday in more than two decades.

Sarah smiles at him. "First time for everything," she whispers, running her hand lovingly along his cheek. When Charlotte whines, she repeats the gesture on the babe, adding in an extra kiss to placate her.

"Eat up," she urges, handing him his utensils. Chuck knows he looks the fool when he smiles at her but he can't help it. He was content just to have her in his life; she really didn't need to do anything more to make him happy.

"Pancakes?" Sarah was full of endless surprises. "When did you learn how to make pancakes?"

Charlotte peeked over his side, drool running down her chin and onto her onesie. Chuck couldn't quite figure out if she actually wanted a bite or if she was simply being a baby.

"Chuck helped," Sarah offered.

Chuck smiled. "Did you?" he asked, making sport of the syllables as he dipped his head to bump noses with his daughter. Charlotte nodded enthusiastically, waving the paper fragments in her fists again.

Chuck had no idea where she'd found the book or magazine, but he was sure they'd discover the unfortunate victim sooner or later. There was hardly a book in the house that hadn't already been maimed.

Cutting off a piece, he placed it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Sarah watched carefully with rapt attention.

"Well?" she pressed.

Chuck continued to chew, hoping the dough would start tasting as a pancake ought sooner than later so he wouldn't have to make a white lie. He wasn't sure what it reminded him of, but the taste was _strange_. It felt a little like chewing on rubber.

"It's okay," he said, giving her an encouraging smile.

Sarah tilted her head. "You haven't even swallowed your first bite," she accuses, seeing right through him.

Chuck flushes and he forces himself to swallow the piece. It felt a little like swallowing an eraser. Charlotte giggled as she watched her father's reaction, and here he thought he was faking it pretty well.

"It's good!" he says, clasping her hand. "I appreciate the effort, I really do. You know I love anything you make."

Sarah sighs. "I really tried!" she exclaimed, tearing off a piece of the pancake for herself. Even as she pulled the dough apart, it was clear the consistency was a little…_off._ "I followed the directions _exactly_, I swear. Obviously the writer didn't know what she was doing."

Chuck laughed softly under his breath. "It's not _that_ bad," he said as he forced himself to take another giant mouthful. He chewed thoughtfully, and continued to chew, hoping the dough would soften up after a few minutes.

"But it doesn't make any sense. This was supposed to be failproof," she emphasized. "I followed that recipe to the dot." She dejectedly filled her mouth with more of the pancake dough, sharing in her husband's misery.

Charlotte giggled as she waved her fists in the air. "What have you got, Piglet?" Chuck tickled his daughter's stomach until she finally loosened her fingers in order to squirm free.

Looking at the torn shreds, Chuck laughed. "Bet you didn't know the recipe came in two parts."

Sarah's eyes widened. "What?" she gasped, snatching the shreds of paper out of his hand. She examined the snippets, her face flushing with embarrassment. "Next time I'm going to buy the kind that comes out of a box. The kind that's really failproof," she muttered bitterly.

Chuck smiled as he ripped off a tiny corner for Charlotte. The babe's mouth seemed to gush with drool as she crawled forwards, a cavern of pink gums open in anticipation.

"Don't give her that!" Sarah exclaimed, snatching the crumb away before it could reach Charlotte's mouth. She scooped her daughter into her arms, ignoring the whines that came with being cheated out of a treat.

"I'm really sorry," she said to the other Chuck.

Chuck continued to dig into pancakes despite all of Sarah's chagrin. "What for?"

"I wanted you to have a memorable Father's day. Now we're going to have to squeeze in with everyone else down at the diner."

Chuck just laughed. He took another bite, trying his hardest not to wince as the hard lump of food slowly slid down his throat. Charlotte giggled at the sight, clapping her hands together as if her father were putting on the show specifically for her.

"This is pretty memorable, wouldn't you say?" he asked, winking at them both.

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Do you mean before or after you're rushed to the emergency room to have your stomach pumped?"

Chuck grinned at her, feeling inordinately brave. "Nothing new to the Bartowski household with you in the kitchen, right?"

Sarah looked as if she wanted to hurl the breakfast tray at him but with Charlotte threatening to crawl out of her arms and stuff her face with the possibly toxic flat cakes, she was preoccupied.

Alas, she couldn't help herself. "Happy _normal_ Father's day, Chuck," she announced with a lop-sided smile.

Chuck smiled back as he leaned forwards, capturing her lips in a kiss. She tasted slightly of burnt dough but there was something undeniably sweet about her all the same.

"We are pretty normal, aren't we, Sarah?"

Sarah laughed. Disappointed as she was, she didn't look too upset with a life of mediocrity as she wrestled Charlotte away from the plate. "We are, I'm afraid."

* * *

_And that folks...is what happens when insomnia hits. _

_Good nite.  
_


End file.
